


play with me (you won't get burned)

by swallowedsong (bookstvnerdlove)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 13:56:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4062502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookstvnerdlove/pseuds/swallowedsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in between fighting the queens of darkness, a heat wave hits Storybrooke (or, basically, an excuse to write some canon-based smut without dealing with the post-finale stuff) </p>
<p>heat waves and cranky pirates who live on ships without air conditioning and ice cubes and midnight naked swims, ahoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	play with me (you won't get burned)

The weather in Storybrooke is outrageous, the kind of hot that makes the clothes stick to skin and tempers flare. She’s been answering calls all week, hot-headed, red-faced citizens of the town looking for some relief from this madness. They can’t even blame magic this time. There’s no fire witch come to town to destroy them along with the queens of darkness, no visit from Hades or some other mythical god. And wow, is she  _not_  ready to find out if they are real, too.

She has a message on her phone from a cranky pirate, his voice hard and irritated as he whinges, “Swan it’s a bloody inferno,” before hanging up.

Killian’s been staying on his ship again, now that she’s back, but if there’s one thing the Jolly Roger fails to offer, it’s relief from this unrelenting heat. She told him he’s welcome to stay at the loft and he knows that Granny would take him in again, but he’d muttered something under his breath about captains and their ships and she had let the fight go.

She’d spent her first night about the ship a week ago, just after Ursula left town with her father, just after Killian had shared with them all what he knew.

(Just after he had told her, eyes shining that  _she_  is his happy ending, making the edges of her heart swell and expand, making her nerves sing as their lips met.)

She had made her way to the docks and had sat on a bench, staring at the Jolly Roger bobbing and swaying in the water. He had appeared in her line of sight and she’d watched him working on the deck, shirt unbuttoned, the charms on his necklace gleaming in the sunlight. Approaching the ship, she’d caught his eye and his eyes crinkled at the corners with the stretch of his lips into an open smile. He had watched her as she approached, making his way to the gangplank and she’d made a joke about isn’t she supposed to ask permission to board.

His expression set in that stubborn seriousness he sometimes exhibits, he had said to her, voice soft and steady, “Love. You’ve permanent leave to come aboard.”

(And,  _oh god_ she’s just realized it, that expression of his when she’s said something so small yet so big. When he realizes just how  _damaged_  she can sometimes be.)

She had felt his words in her heart, a tiny squeeze, and she’d replied through a throat thick with unshed tears, “Okay.”

Emma hadn’t meant for it to happen the way that it did, with him ravishing her on his table, her knees bent, heels on the corners as he knelt between her legs. Even today she can still feel remnants of how it felt, that burn between her legs from the scrape of his beard against her inner thighs. She’d almost come from that alone, from the rough brushes against skin and the tiny nips of his teeth around her sensitive flesh. And then his tongue found her and she’d been lost to the pleasure of it.

She hadn’t visited him with that purpose a week ago, but she’s come with it now.

* * *

Killian’s lips curve into a delightful leer as she slides the denim off her legs, a slow show of limbs and maybe some subtle roll of her hips, not strictly necessary, but so fun, because they make his eyes flare bright hot. Maybe this started because the damned heat made her jeans almost impossible to remove, and judging by the humor mixing with the desire in his gaze, he knows it too. The result is the same, though. Him on his narrow bed watching as she peels away the her remaining clothes, until she stands before him in maybe not her most exciting lingerie, but then who needs satin and lace when just the sight of her makes him palm his erection and flick out his tongue, tasting those tempting lips of his.

When her skin is just as bare as his, she swings her leg over his hip and he presses up into her, his hips rising and his tongue flicking out to taste his lips. Catching his shoulder with her her hand she pushes him back and says mock-sternly, “Behave or you won’t get my gift.”

He pouts for a moment, his lips puffed and his eyes wide and it almost makes her laugh, her stomach clenching, holding it in. She’s not used to this mix of play and sex, and all she can do is wonder  _if she laughs, will she break this moment?_

She must have paused too long because his fingers find her hip and he digs into her there, as he again thrusts up, his hardness sending that zing of friction to her belly. She cocks her head to the side and she forces her lips into a straight, harsh line, as she threatens, “I thought I said something about behaving?”

“Just wanted to ensure you were still here with me, darling,” he says.

(And oh.  _Oh_. That makes her feel  _everything_.)

She leans over to the small cooler that she placed beside his bed and she grabs a piece of ice, the frozen cube almost immediately beginning to melt against her warm fingers. Her voice is quiet as she says, “That was a very good answer.”

His eyes, their irises huge and dark with desire, widen as she presses the ice to his skin. His lids flutter closed and she can see his throat working as he swallows, his fingers twitching at her hipbone but his hips remaining still this time. And she loves his response, his ability to control, his desire for more. And she especially loves the sound he makes as she trails the ice cube down the center of his chest, following his her lips, that hiss of her name, like he had been holding his breath until her.

She whispers against his skin, “I heard you were warm and I wanted to help you cool down.”

He murmurs a response, but it’s so low she can’t make out his words, not while she has her lips on his chest and she can feel the way his heart beats for her below them. It’s heady and distracting, the power that makes her feel, the rush of magic racing under her skin. It roars in her ears, this sound, her magic enhancing every sense. Enhancing the cold against his skin, the contrast of heated flesh and cool lips.

Slowly, she glides until she reaches his abdomen, his muscles tensing at the cold, rippling against the lips that follow. The cube is almost melted and she spreads the liquid along the edge of his boxer briefs, the black elastic slung low on his hips. She leans down and licks a path up, the ice she’d rolled along her tongue making his skin hot against her cool mouth.

“Bloody witch,” he calls her, but there’s not heat behind his words, no angry fire, just the pure sounds of hunger as she continues to cool him. Ice gliding along his collarbone, her teeth nipping a path; her fingers sliding under the elastic at his waist and dragging the cotton down his legs.

She takes her time, reaching every patch of skin she can, a combination of cold and lips and fingers, until he cannot remain still beneath her, his hips thrusting up to the air, his eyes closed and his head rolling back against his bed. He reaches for her, fingers trailing under the strap of her bra, tracing under the waist of her cotton briefs, but she stops him after a moment, placing a finger at his lips. “Shhh, this is for you.”

Though in a way it’s for her, too, her fingers slipping under cotton and finding her slick flesh while she wraps her lips around him, making sure his eyes are open as he watches please herself, please him. She comes, grinding her clit against the heel of her hand and he follows soon after, his fingers tangled in her hair. 

* * *

They lay on the deck of the Jolly Roger, limbs bare to the world, their clothes still strewn below deck from before. The stifling heat of the day unbroken still, even as the moon shines upon their bodies. It’s too hot to stay below deck, and it’s too hot above board to cover up. She gleams under the pale light, with her pale hair and pale skin.

He doesn’t mind, not since they pulled the Jolly out of the harbor at sunset and dropped anchor somewhere along the edge of that mythical town line that keeps them all in town, keeps them from running away from witches and curses and all the bloody demons that plague them. There is no other soul present in this pace of theirs.

They had lain out a blanket for them to sleep below the moon and the stars and he had waited with a patient smile while Emma called her parents and called her son and told them to stay cool, to stay inside.  _And, for god’s sake, don’t go near Grumpy unless you want your head taken off._

And then she was all his and they had lain on their backs, facing the stars and whispered words until they slipped into sleep.

It’s not until later that it rises in him again, this desire to touch her, to taste her, so strong that he opens his eyes and rolls to his side, facing her. Her eyelids twitch, a telltale sign that she’s resting just as little as he, so he leans in to brush his lips against her bare shoulder where she’s sticky with sweat and tastes of salt. The wave of desire sparks a flash of heat across his skin, heat on heat, as her eyes flicker open. Her hands reach for him even through her sleepy haze, even though not hours before they had sated themselves, Emma riding him in his bed, head thrown back and hair wild about her body, his hand on her breast and hers gripping the sheets.

She shifts and rolls towards him until her breasts brush up against his chest. "I can’t get enough,” she mumbles now as her hands graze along his arms, skimming his skin.

Their skin sticks together as they roll into each other, her hands shifting, gripping his sides as his mouth moves to her neck. Teeth scraping, his breath is hot against her skin and she moans into the air at the slippery hot slide and rough scrape of his mouth. It makes his heart race. She always makes his heart race. But tonight, with the heat and the moonlight, with their skin catching, pressing, clinging in all it’s sweat-slicked glory.

Her hips roll into his and catch at his hardness, and he glimpses her lips curved into a smile as he rewards with with the low groan that escapes  _his_  lips. Lips still traveling across her skin, his teeth meeting her collarbone, nipping and pulling, his tongue tracing a hot path that follows.

Killian pulls back and watches her body flush with wanting. He loves the blush that spreads across her body, barely visible in the moonlight, but he can see enough as it spreads across her chest, the sweat rolling down between her breasts. And he can taste it, moments later, when he tongues her nipple, sucking into his mouth.  _Gods,_  he loves it when it so elemental like this, when she’s naked and panting and she tastes like the sun itself. **  
**

His lips travel the paths of her body, marking his presence with each press of mouth, each flick of tongue. He marks her curves and valleys and he takes each gasp of pleasure and he saves that sound for later, for when he’s alone, so he can remember how it felt to have her at his mercy. She’s wet for him, his fingers find, so slick and warm as he presses into her. And when his mouth follows, her hips roll up to meet him, and he knows he’ll never forget this moment.

* * *

Emma feels like she could catch fire, she’s so hot. It’s making her head spin, the way his fingers curl into her hip, holding her as he slides into her. She’s always thought this was a myth, blacking out after sex, but she swears it might happen to her this time as he continues to thrust, his hand shifting until they’re wrapped around her wrist gripping the blanket near her head. He presses his fingers tight as he pushes the arm above her head, as he keeps her wrist pinned until it almost hurts.

He’s circling his hips as he fucks into her so hard, so hard against their sweat-slicked skin and it’s almost too much, like she’s drunk. She’s heat drunk, been heat drunk all day with the angry sun and the denim sticking to her legs. Heat drunk as she fucked him the first time, her hips circling as his fingers tweaked her nipple, the pleasure-pain shooting down her stomach. 

Maybe she’s drunk on him, too. Maybe it’s both, but it doesn’t matter as her focus narrows to him, only him, his face above her, his hand releasing hers as he shifts the angle of his thrusts and his fingers find her clit. She can only focus on him as she feels her orgasm building and her hands find his face and his eyes open and meet hers and she knows it. She’s drunk on him and the world fades as she feels that fluttering release, as it spreads across her nerves and her back arches off the blanket and she gasps his name.

* * *

He dives into the water and the quick rush of ice-cold on his skin feels something like heaven, like the bits, the teases of ice from earlier, now washing over his skin. He calls for Emma to join him, rousing her from the blanket where she still lay, dazed and recovering. She leans against the wood, all naked and shining in the moonlight. He cannot read her features but he knows that she’s smiling that soft, sated grin of hers that appears so rarely. 

When she dives in, she’s confident and graceful, and he marvels at the way she flies through the air all long, lithe lines, before splashing, just close enough to him that he’s able to reach her in two strokes. She floats next to him, closing her eyes and giving into his touch trailing along her arms, her legs, her sides. She hums in contentment and she shifts, treading water in front of him as her hands join his underwater, as her legs brush against his.

Neither of make any further claims, their touches gentle and exploring. Learning. Memorizing. Maybe later he will close the space between them once more before this heat finally breaks, but in this moment he leans his forehead against hers and she brushes her fingers against his jaw, and it’s enough. 

In this moment, it’s her and him and the ocean. 


End file.
